Every purchase you make through these Amazon links supports DVD Verdict's reviewing efforts. Thank you!

All Rise...

Appellate Judge Tom Becker doesn't like to be taken for granite.

The Charge

All men are not created equal.

Opening Statement

In the early '60s, as the standards of the Hays Code slowly fell away,
Hollywood churned out a steady stream of increasingly smutty sex comedies. Most
of these were forgettable little projects, generally starring a "name"
actor or two and often with titles that titillated. Unlike the all-out
fleshploitation films by people like Joe Sarno and Russ Meyer, these received
MPAA approval and played comfortably in neighborhood theaters.

Besides their mostly cheap-gag premises, these films were often marked by a
near-hysterical desperation to be "with it," with leering looks at
wife swapping, infidelity, birth control, women who didn't wear bras, and other
then-current topicalities. Rather than tapping much into "New
Hollywood"—who were off making their own films—these movies
were toplined by established stars with a decidedly middle-age appeal. Thus,
Deborah Kerr made Prudence and the Pill, Jackie Gleason and Bob Hope
showed us How to Commit Marriage, Dean Martin shared How to Save a
Marriage…and Ruin Your Life, and scads of famous folks cameoed in
support of Walter Matthau in A Guide for the Married Man, one of the few
that actually rose above the low-ball genre antics.

The Statue could be the boilerplate from which these smarm fests were
hammered. Geared for the 'burbs, its triumvirate of stars included an
Oscar-winner whose career had seen better days (David Niven, Separate Tables), a younger actor
who'd gained fame on a popular TV show (Robert Vaughn, The Man From U.N.C.L.E.), and an
international sex symbol (Virna Lisi, How to Murder Your Wife), in which
she co-starred with Jack Lemmon—the only actor to make the whole cheesy
sex-com thing work at all). It featured an allegedly sexy but really just sleazy
set-up, randomly topless women, and pokes at modern art, avant garde
theater, infidelity, closeted homosexuality, and then-president Richard
Nixon.

Code Red gives us a marginal release of this early-'70s misfire.

Facts of the Case

Alex Bolt (Niven) has developed a universal language, Unispeak. For this, he
wins a Nobel Prize, and his wife, sculptress Rhonda (Virna Lisi) is commissioned
by the U.S. government to create a memorial to him that will stand in Grosvenor
Square, London. Instead of creating something abstract that represents the
global togetherness that Unispeak will bring about, she makes an 18-foot replica
of her husband naked, with a huge plaster protuberance representing his manly
bits.

Rather than taking this as a compliment and basking in the glow of having
one of the most beautiful women in the world sculpt him a penis the size of the
Space Needle, Alex becomes convinced his wife—whom he's only seen 18 out
of the last 1,000 days, so busy is he—has taken a lover, and the king-size
member is someone else's club. Alex now tasks himself with finding all possible
suspects and surreptitiously checking out how they measure up. Since the
government commissioned this monstrosity, this turns into an international
schlong search.

The Evidence

A long, pointless, dirty joke without a punchline, The Statue is an
aggressively unfunny film. Watching an actor of Niven's stature flounder about
here is almost poignant. Playing an erudite "middle-aged man"—so
nice to know that Boomers weren't the first to assign that term to people over
60—the actor walks through this one with the sort of pained expression
you'd see on someone passing a kidney stone.

You almost wish the guy was passing a kidney stone; at least that would be
temporary, and he'd be enjoying pain killers and cranberry juice. Film,
unfortunately, is forever, so that generations from now, after the apes have
taken over, The Statue will still stand as a monument to the Oscar
winner's unfortunate late-career slide.

Over the course of 90 minutes, Niven must endure the indignities of a penis
hunt that takes him to a steam bath, a monastery, a whorehouse, and a nude
musical revue, a phenomenon once considered so shocking yet amusing that The
Odd Couple used it as the basis of a first-season episode. Niven must also
uncomfortably discuss his own penis, and at one point goes to a
"three-for-a-quarter" photo booth in an arcade to memorialize it.
Women turn up topless simply because the R rating allows them to, but men are
shot safely above the waist—this includes the titular artifact as well as
a more famous sculpture that you might have seen in an art magazine.

Because the government is involved, the plot takes increasingly convoluted
and ludicrous turns. There's a sense that Director Rod (a jokey name!)
Amateau—who also gifted us with Pussycat, Pussycat, I Love You,
Where Does It Hurt? and Son of Hitler—was going for zany and
political, but the pacing is so leaden and the jokes so obvious, that it's a
chore to sit through.

The Statue comes to us courtesy of Code Red, a company I
appreciate—they do trot out some cool obscurities—even if I'm not
always wild about the product. While Code Red releases often feature cool
extras, evidently they couldn't find anyone willing to man up and talk about
The Statue, even co-star Robert Vaughn, whose turn as the ambassador who
starts this mess is reason enough to be thankful for the fast-forward
function.

Tech-wise, this one's a bit of a train wreck. The disc starts with a
disclaimer apologizing for the poor technical quality—it seems the only
print they could find was one used for theatrical release. Code Red is really
not noted for their sterling technical work, the pre-show message sends up a big
Code Red flag. Much of the print shows an awful lot of damage, the kind of thing
you'd expect to see on an old porn film. Audio is a tinny mono track that only
perks up when the dreadful cha-cha theme song blares.

The Rebuttal Witnesses

The closest thing to a redeeming quality that this film offers is an early
appearance by John Cleese in a fairly major role. The Python gives us sharp
timing mixed with apparent disdain, and The Statue comes close to working
when he's on screen. The only other plus is seeing beautiful Virna Lisi giving
an almost-assured performance in a fairly one-note role.

Closing Statement

Dreary and limp, The Statue fails to rise above its soft-core premise.
Flaccid performances and slack direction, combined with a script that's not
nearly as bouncy as it should be, make for an unsatisfying experience.